So Close to You (So Close to You - Trilogy) (8 page)

I stand up and stare at the point where Wes slipped into the trees. I hesitate for a second, then pivot and run in the opposite direction.

I run through the woods as quickly as I can without shoes. After a few minutes, I slow to a jog, searching for a way out of the woods. Everything seems strangely unfamiliar.

I listen for sounds of the ocean. If I can find the cliffs, then I can find the parking lot and my grandfather. But before I hear any waves, I come across a road. It’s little more than a wide dirt path, covered in tire marks. In the distance, dogs are barking, a man is shouting, and a car motor turns over.

I walk hesitantly toward the noise. I round a corner and the woods recede, the sky opening up over a large clearing. I recognize this place. I think …

In front of me are men standing in rows, holding huge guns. Another man is yelling at them. A bunch of old trucks are clustered nearby.

I can’t take my eyes off the buildings that circle the men. The buildings I’ve passed a thousand times with my grandfather. The buildings that were abandoned and covered in graffiti only hours before. They look brand-new, gleaming with fresh paint. The old gymnasium, a white clapboard building, has a tall steeple on the top. A steeple that was built in World War II to trick enemies into thinking the building was a harmless church. A steeple that fell down over two decades ago.

I whip my head around. And then I fall to my knees in the dirt, staring wide-eyed into the empty sky. There’s no radar tower. It’s approaching twilight, the light is starting to fade, but you can see the rusted, wire tower from
anywhere
in Camp Hero. It was built years and years and years before my birth. Now it’s gone. Like it was never there. Like it hasn’t been built yet.

I hear a distant shout, and one of the men breaks away and walks toward me. “Miss? Are you all right, miss?”

I shake my head from side to side, unable to answer. Fear rises in my throat, so fast that I’m afraid it will come pouring out of my mouth if I open it.

The man comes closer. He has blond hair cropped short. He’s wearing an olive-colored uniform: a khaki shirt with boxy shoulders tucked into high-waisted pants, three black stripes on his sleeves. I see the warm golden color of his skin before I close my eyes tight. “What is today?” I whisper to him.

“Sorry?” I hear leaves crunch as he comes closer. “What did you say, miss?” His voice drawls over the words like warm honey.

“The date.” My eyes are still closed, and I press my hands to them. “What is it?”

“It’s Tuesday. The thirtieth of May.”

“And … the year?”

“Nineteen forty-four.” He sounds concerned.

Nineteen forty-four. Fifty years before I’m born. I gasp. My lungs feel tight, aching, closing.

“Miss, are you all right?”

I grasp at my chest with both hands. “I—think—no—”

He squats down beside me. “Put your head between your knees.” He cups the back of my neck with his hand and pushes me forward gently until my forehead is almost touching the ground. “Try to breathe through your nose.”

I breathe in and out, trying to concentrate on getting air even as my thoughts come faster, faster.
Everything they say is true. That vessel was a … time machine. I’m in the past. I’m in 1944. 1944. 1944
.

I keep my head pressed into the dirt, hoping that if I squeeze my eyes hard enough that maybe this will all go away. That I’ll wake up and it will be hours earlier, and I’ll be leaning against a tree while my grandfather searches the woods for nothing.

But no amount of hoping makes the soldier kneeling beside me go away.

My breathing finally steadies, and I sit up slowly.

“Okay now?”

I nod. I’m not okay, but this guy doesn’t need to think I’m any more of a lunatic.

He straightens and reaches his hand out. I carefully rise to my feet next to him. He’s several inches taller than me, almost six feet tall, though slightly shorter and broader than Wes.

Wes
.

I push him out of my mind and look at the man standing in front of me. His cheeks are round and full, boyish. Some part of me notices that he has pale eyes, an even gray-blue, with light, almost invisible eyelashes.

Oh. He’s more boy than man. He looks only a little older than the seniors that just graduated from my school. The seniors I was supposed to be celebrating with the night before.

“What’s your name? What are you doing here?” he asks.

The men nearby are shouting in unison, “One, two, left, right.” What
am
I doing here?

I have no idea how to answer. My mind is cloudy, fuzzy. I do know who I am, though. “I’m Lydia. Who are you?”

“I’m Sergeant Lucas Clarke, stationed at Camp Hero for the past year.” Some of the men in the clearing are watching us now. I turn away from their eyes. “Why are you here? Camp Hero is closed to civilians.”

“I don’t know.” I look at the ground. Stare at my feet. “I’m bleeding,” I say dumbly.

He looks down to see little rivers of blood slide across the tops of my feet.

“You need a doctor. I’m taking you to the field hospital.”

“No.” I gaze into the woods and wonder if Wes is out there searching for me. He knew that I had gone back in time. He must have followed me here. Why?

Why didn’t he tell me the truth?

What am I supposed to do now?

“Yes. You’re bleeding.” I look up at Lucas, startled out of my thoughts. “And you’re disoriented. Let me take you to the hospital.”

“No. I’m … I shouldn’t be here.” I try to step backward but I stagger and start to fall. Lucas grabs my arms, catching me.

“Come on.” He pulls me against his side. “It’s not far.”

I make one more effort to pull away, one more effort to stand on my own, but the adrenaline has worn off and I barely have the strength to keep my eyes open. Lucas guides me forward and I move with him, the warmth of his body seeping into my own. As we slowly walk toward the white buildings, one thought runs over and over through my head, a song I can’t turn off.

I’ve gone back in time
.

I’ve gone back in time
.

I’ve gone back in time
.

“M
iss?”

I shift my body. My feet sting, and I rub them together under the blanket.

“Lydia?”

I open my eyes slowly. There’s a man leaning over me, his green eyes inches from mine.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” He stands up and consults a chart in his hands. I sit up carefully and glance around the room. There are six other cots lined against the walls, though all of them are bare, with folded white sheets resting on top. The room has pale peach-colored walls and two windows that look out onto the forest. One of the windows is open, and a strong breeze tugs at the yellow curtains.

“Hello.” My voice is rough with sleep. I’m wearing a white cotton nightgown two sizes too big, and it billows around me like a sail in the wind. “Who are you?”

“I’m your doctor.”

My doctor has a short beard and dark hair sprinkled with gray. I notice his white coat is open, and I can see suspenders and blue shirt sleeves rolled up. “How are you feeling this morning?”

I stretch. My muscles ache, but otherwise I’m not in any pain. “Good. I feel good.”

I hear voices outside. We must be near the mess hall, or the barracks. Bits of conversation and the acrid scent of cigarette smoke float in through the window.

“Do you know where you are?” The doctor looks down at me over his square, wire glasses. There’s something familiar about his eyes and the full shape of his mouth. I nod. “The field hospital.”

The doctor smiles, and I wonder if I just passed some sort of test.

Sunlight streams through the open window. “What time is it?” I ask. I’ve been here since last night, when Lucas handed me over to the Red Cross nurse on duty. She cleaned the cuts on my feet and helped me into bed, even though it was only early evening. Despite the sick feeling I couldn’t shake, I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

“A little after ten.” The doctor sits down on a chair next to the bed. A heavy stethoscope swings against his chest. “Do you mind if I look at your feet?”

I shake my head and he peels back the edge of my blanket. I have a small scrape on my right heel and tiny puncture marks scattered on both soles.

The doctor picks up a cloth and wets it with alcohol. I stay still as he cleans the cuts. He picks up one foot, then the other, prodding each scrape with his finger. Finally he straightens, pulling the blanket back over me. “These will heal in a few days.”

“Thanks, Doctor … I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.” He stands and places the used cloth onto a tray. “It’s Dr. Bentley.”

Oh my god.

“Did you say
Bentley
?” My voice sounds unnaturally high and piercing.

He tilts his head and looks at me oddly. “Yes. Are you all right?”

“I’m … I thought you said something else.” I stare at him. We have the same green eyes, and the way he stands so straight and tall reminds me of my grandfather. We have to be related somehow.

I’m pretty sure my grandfather told me that
his
grandfather had been a doctor, and that he was still working during World War II. Could Dr. Bentley be Dean Bentley’s father?

I try to sound casual when I ask, “Do you have any children?”

“I have a daughter and a son.” He sits back down next to the bed and studies my face. I squirm under his strong gaze. “But I’d like to talk about
your
family, Lydia, and how you got into Camp Hero. Can you give me your full name for our records?”

“I—” My mind races. I didn’t think that I’d have to come up with some kind of cover story. “You said you have a daughter. What’s her name?”

He leans forward with his elbows on his knees and watches me. Finally he says, “Her name is Mary. She’s about your age.”

“Mary?” I whisper. Without thinking, I ask, “Is your son Dean?”

“Yes.” He raises an eyebrow. “How did you know that?”

I stare at him, my mouth half open. It takes a minute for me to realize that Dr. Bentley just asked me a question.
Think, Lydia
. “I thought I heard one of the soldiers mention a Dean Bentley last night. I took a guess.”

Dr. Bentley smiles and looks a little less curious. “Yes, Dean is an officer stationed here at Camp Hero. He’s part of the reason I volunteer when they need a doctor. Mary’s also here today. She’s downstairs right now nursing a soldier who was knocked out during training.”

Dean. Mary. I fall back against the pillows, staring at the tall, dark-haired man in front of me. Dr. Bentley is my great-great-grandfather.

I close my eyes. Meeting my ancestor has shifted something inside me. I’m no longer disoriented, no longer in shock. I can’t pretend that yesterday was a dream or a nightmare or anything but the
truth
.

I traveled in time. It’s 1944.

I feel the bed move and I open my eyes to see Dr. Bentley leaning over me. “You look pale,” he says, placing one hand on my forehead, the other against my wrist. “Are you sure—” He’s interrupted by the door opening.

“Hiya, Dad!” A girl with curly, dark red hair bounces into the room. “Nurse Linny says she needs your help.... Is
this
the girl everyone’s been talking about?”

“Mary, this is Lydia.” Dr. Bentley straightens.

“Lydia!” Mary smiles at me widely. Her teeth are startlingly white against bright red lipstick.

Dr. Bentley looks from me to Mary. “I need to go downstairs to see to a patient. Will you stay with Lydia until I come back?”

Mary skirts her father, skips over to me, and plops down on the bed. I lean back, pulling my nightgown quickly out of the way. “Don’t worry, Daddy. We have so much to talk about.”

Dr. Bentley smiles at her and turns to me. His eyes narrow slightly. “When I get back I’d like to hear that story of yours, Lydia.”